The Hoping

Shit goddamn.
there was never really a chance for you and me,
was there?
It was just a windy moment we had
when we were blown together,
wasn’t it?
Fuck, I was stupid.
I thought it was something real.
I thought you were someone real
or I was
or the possibility…
Fucking shit.
What was I thinking?

I wasn’t.
Something else was thinking.
The thing with the feathers
down there
that wakes with the dawn
and follows its own compass.
I followed the hoping’s thoughts
and look where it got me.
I’m an idiot
and I’m embarrassed
and you knew better
and were telling me all along
in coded language I wouldn’t hear
– the hoping wouldn’t let me –
and I should have known better
and goddammit all to shit.

…the thing with the feathers…

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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